Fran Baker (3 page)

She had, by now, determined to ignore such flattery, so Helen let this go by asking him instead where it was he came from.

“My family home is in Kent,” he answered. “Hallbrook Keep,” he added, looking as if he expected her to know of it.

Helen saw that some reaction was expected of her, but not knowing what, stammered, “Is . . . is it a nice town?”

A startled look briefly crossed his features, then Stratford laughed, showing a sincerity which his manner had previously lacked. She thought perhaps she may have been mistaken in her first impression of him as a remote and forbidding man.

“The Keep is my grandfather’s estate, my dear,” he explained with a smile. “I’m inclined to think of it as somewhat nice.”

“I am sorry!” she apologized, then instantly wished had not. Despite his continued smile, the disturbing chill returned to his eyes. Though she racked her brain for something to say, Helen could think of nothing. They continued to dance without conversing, but his stare put her so out of countenance that she missed a step and felt even more miserable.

The fact that the lovely young miss dancing with the Viscount Stratford had entertained him so well was not missed by the ever-watchful members of the
ton
. Speculation began to spread as tongues wagged throughout the room.

Jacques Maret was among those who stood watching the pair, his thin lips curled up in amusement as he did so. His satisfaction was not shared by the younger man standing rigidly beside him.

“You should not encourage him in this outrage,” Daniel Baldwin said in a furious undertone, unable to refrain any longer from speaking. “You must see that Colin cannot marry Miss Lawrence!”

“Are you suggesting that Miss Lawrence would not suit?” Maret inquired with cool contempt. “Is she the daughter of some country cit?”

“No! Of course not. But to select a wife as if one were at Tattersall’s is offensive to any person of sensibility.”

“But, my dear sir, you mistake. Stratford would never choose his horses with so much haste,” Maret objected before bowing and moving languidly off.

Baldwin’s face clearly showed his shock and it was some little while before he felt himself composed enough to attend to the activity around him. He sought out his mother, but by the time he reached her side, Daniel had decided to keep his own counsel on this matter for the time being. He resolved instead to call upon his cousin on the morrow to talk Colin out of this mad scheme.

Maret reappeared as the viscount returned Miss Helen to her aunt’s care. Her cheeks were mantled with a soft rose, heightening the appeal of her blue eyes and deeply red lips, and Jacques silently congratulated himself on his unerring taste. He stepped forward. “I claim this next dance, Miss Lawrence.”

This time Miss Helen did not look to her aunt for approval, but lightly laid her fingers upon Maret’s velvet sleeve. She did cast a glance over her shoulder as they moved away and thus saw the viscount settling himself beside Amelia Thacker.

Mindful of her mistakes during the previous dance and still feeling disconcerted from her encounter with Stratford, Helen at first paid more attention to her steps than to her partner. Maret did not press her in any way. After a bit, she peered up shyly at him through her thick lashes in such an enchanting manner, Jacques experienced an unaccustomed desire to please. His habitual coolness evaporated and smiled warmly down at her.

“Have you been enjoying London, Miss Lawrence?” he asked in a friendly tone that elicited an open response.

“Oh, yes. There is so much to see and do that I’ve been quite in a whirl since I arrived. Although, of course, it would be even more enjoyable if Rose or Esmond were here to share in all the pleasures.”

“You have brothers and sisters, then?”

“Yes, two of each, all of them older than I.”

“And are your sisters as lovely as you?” he questioned, much enjoying the honeyed tones of her voice.

“Well,
I
think so,” she answered stoutly, leaving him in no doubt that they were not. “Sarah is married, with children. And Rose, well, Rose is quite wonderful—she can take care of anything!”

This last was said with so much fervor that Miss Helen looked totally and charmingly animated.

“And Esmond?” Jacques prompted.

“He’s a scholar, you see, and would much enjoy all the museums and sights. Have you seen the Egyptian Hall in Piccadilly?”

Maret suppressed a shudder to reply evenly, “No, I’ve not yet had that particular pleasure.”

“Well, I could not help but think of Esmond while there,” she said with a solemnity that brought an expression of delight to Jacques’s narrow face.

They continued to converse in much the same vein, with Maret quietly drawing Miss Helen out so that she was thoroughly at ease with the normally unapproachable man.

While he watched the couple upon the dance floor, Colin was maintaining an easy flow of talk with Mrs. Thacker.

“Oh, indeed,” she was saying in response to his lordship’s admission of surprise that Miss Lawrence came from Willowley. “I could not but be grateful that Helen doesn’t have any of the Broads inflections in her speech, though, of course, it would not have greatly mattered. She is as lovely in her manners as she is in her looks.” She raised a hand to brush back a few strands of flaxen hair dusted lightly with gray.

“And her father?” Colin queried.

“Mr. Lawrence passed away a number of years ago—not too long before my own husband, in fact—and her brother Griffen is head of the family now.” She would have expanded on this, but the music stopped and Amelia sailed up with her partner in tow. Stratford came to his feet as Maret escorted Helen to her seat.

Sometime after midnight, Stratford and Maret took their leave of their hostess. By the time they departed, all two hundred of Lady Carmichael’s guests were aware that the Viscount Stratford had embarked on a new flirtation, for he had remained by the side of Miss Helen Lawrence throughout the evening. Though he had danced with no one else, he had actually led the country beauty out twice. His unusual attentiveness had not gone unremarked and was recounted several times all over London before dawn broke through.

While on the way to White’s, Maret inquired in an indifferent tone, “What do you think of the future viscountess?”

“Blushing virgins aren’t much to my taste,” yawned Stratford, “but I suppose she will do well enough.” As his friend was seated in the shadowed corner of the carriage, Colin did not see the spasm of annoyance which crossed Jacques’s face, and he continued blithely, “At any rate, she’s a damn sight easier to take than Horatia Blunt.”

“Horatia Blunt!”

“My reaction exactly. She was my grandfather’s threat of a fiancée.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“All the brandy you were diving into earlier.”

The viscount’s laughter filled the carriage, while the moment of displeasure that had piqued Maret completely dissipated. As he calmed, Stratford said, “I shall send one of my men to Willowley in the morning to make certain she’s not some damned mill owner’s daughter or anything as undesirable. I learned from her aunt that her father is dead and her brother is head of the family.”

“Esmond?”

“No, his name is Griffen. Who is Esmond?”

“A brother of scholarly pursuits, according to Miss Lawrence. I was also given to understand that she has two sisters. It seems, dear boy, you are about to be saddled with a family of considerable size,” Jacques said with a laugh.

“Your guineas in my pocket shall compensate me to a large degree,” Colin retorted as the coach came to a halt before the impressive edifice of the exclusive men’s club known as White’s. “Yes, it shall be most satisfying to win this wager.”

Chapter 3

Helen Lawrence awoke late the following morning to the cacophony that was London’s traffic outside her window. She sleepily noted the cheery display of sunlight upon the papered pattern of the walls, wondering for a few moments just where she was. She still had difficulty in comprehending the fact that she was not at home, that this was not her own little square room in Appleton Cottage.

Her gaze came to rest upon an enormous basket of roses standing atop a dressing table. Her eyes flew open wide and she sat upright, staring at the bright bouquet. After a stunned moment, she threw back the satin coverlet and crossed to take a square white card from the heart of the red flowers.

Their color pales beside your lips
, she read, and hardly drew a breath before looking at the signature.
Stratford
. She let out a sigh and dropped the card carelessly upon the table.

A quick rap sounded upon her door. Before Helen could say anything, the door was flung open and the whirlwind known as Amelia Thacker flew into the room.

“I’m so glad you are up!” she exclaimed. “I could not wait another instant to see your bouquet, for your maid told my maid they were delivered by Stratford’s man! Oh, are they not the most beautiful roses you’ve ever seen? And at this season! The viscount is a wonder, is he not?” Without pausing for an answer, she skipped to her cousin and snapped up the small card from where it had fallen. She read the message, her violet eyes widening.

“You have made a conquest, Helen!” she cried. “I confess, the way Stratford smiled at you last night, I was quite eaten up with envy.”

“Yes, but Amy, the smile never entered his eyes,” Helen pointed out quietly.

“Oh, pooh! I should not care a button for that! Why, a wealthy viscountess doesn’t need smiles from her
husband
!” Amelia twirled before the mirror, peeking through the roses to examine her sprigged muslin day gown with a critical eye. She leaned toward the glass to fluff her cropped blond curls and said with a laugh, “It is a great pity the viscount does not seem to care for fair beauties, for I should not hesitate to snatch him from you if I could. He is
the
catch of the decade, silly! And you want his eyes to smile!”

With a pitying shake of her head, Amelia darted from the room, leaving her cousin standing with a line sketched upon her brow.

She did not understand, nor did she want to understand, such a fashionable view of marriage. For Helen, the union of two souls was only conceivable when blessed by love. It was, she feared, an emotion of which Lord Stratford knew nothing. The memory of the cool calculation in his gaze returned and she shivered as she dressed in a becoming pleated percale gown of pale blue, with a high bodice and long, tight sleeves that accentuated the slimness of her figure. But she smoothed away the worry from her brow before removing to the breakfast room where she found her Aunt Elizabeth sipping from a Wedgwood teacup while Amelia busily spread a thin layer of marmalade over a biscuit.

“Good morning, dear. Amy was just telling me you were up. I trust you slept well after the excitement of your first ball?”

“Yes, thank you, Aunt Liz,” Helen replied, taking a seat opposite her cousin.

“Just think, Mama,” said that lively miss, “Helen was not impressed with her roses!
I
should be positively overcome should I receive anything half so grand! And if Lord Stratford had compared
my
lips to roses, I should be in transports of excitement!”

“Thank goodness Helen has more sense,” her mother said with a touch of dryness to her tone. “It would not do, my dears, to take the viscount’s attentions too seriously. It appears he’s been much taken with Helen, but he’s well known for his flirtations, and we must not expect this to be anything more.”

“But if it
were
, Mama, just think how thrilling it would be!” Amy said before sinking her teeth into her biscuit.

“Well, there’s no denying that it would be the greatest good fortune,” Elizabeth admitted with a sigh.

“Oh? And why is that, Aunt Liz?” Helen asked in a carefully bland voice.

“Viscount Stratford is the most eligible bachelor—” she began.

“I told her, the catch of the decade!” Amy interrupted before subsiding at her mother’s quelling eye.

“Besides his title and vast wealth—some say greater even than the Golden Ball’s forty thousand a year—he is the heir to his grandfather’s title and all the Earl of Hallbrook’s considerable wealth as well. The connection is one of the oldest and most impeccable in the county. His estate stands on the ruins of an ancient fortification in Kent.”

“Hallbrook Keep,” Helen murmured.

“Why, yes. When you consider what such a connection would do for your family, you cannot but be sensible of the good fortune such a match would bring. Imagine, dear, having all the burden of your family taken from Griffen’s shoulders! Why, I was quite bemazed to see how much he had aged in the years since your father died—one would hardly believe that he is not yet thirty!

“He . . . he does have many cares, since Papa did not leave us provided for. And with Mama’s health being so poorly . . .” Helen’s voice trailed away.

“I suspect much of Susanna’s state of health is in her mind,” Elizabeth returned sharply. “But I shan’t speak ill of my own sister. If you married well, Helen, your mother could receive the best of medical care. And Esmond could continue his studies. I could also mean, I think, a bit of freedom for Rose. I’m sure no one could be more deserving of a chance for fun and ease. I was even more shocked by her spinsterish air than I was over Griffen’s staid attitude. Why, Rose is only six-and-twenty, and it’s a shame to have her placed so firmly on the shelf!”

“I could not agree more, Aunt Liz. But when I begged her to come to London with me, she only laughed and asked me what an old thing like herself could do amid all the young belles and beaux! And she said Griffen and Nell and Esmond and Mama could not do without her.”

“That, at least, I will believe,” Elizabeth said through tight lips. She shook her head, as if to shake away the vision of her niece aged before her time, and spoke briskly. “But, of course, we are racing ahead. It would not do for us to get our hopes up on the basis of one basket of roses.”

“But you would be the most envied woman in all England should Stratford offer for you, Helen,” Amy put in. “Last season, there was a jest that the recipe for a lively season consisted of one part balls and fetes, one party young beauties, and one part Viscount Stratford—then toss out everything but Stratford, for the viscount alone would account for a lively time!”